“I can dress myself, you know,” she remarked with a bemused smirk.
I shrugged. “I know. This was more fun.” I stood up, trying to be at least somewhat subtle in my adjustment of my monster erection as I moved to the door and grabbed the crystal knob. “Meet you in the foyer when you’re ready?”
She eyed me, and the obvious outline. “Where…where are you going?”
I jerked my head at the door. “We’re going shopping. Also, it’s time for lunch, thought maybe we could hit up my favorite burger joint.”
She indicated me with a flick of her finger. “Like that?”
I shrugged. “It’ll fade…eventually.”
“Isn’t it…I don’t know…uncomfortable?”
“Hurts like a bitch, if you really wanna know.” I shrugged again. “I’ll live.”
“Isn’t there some way of…” she moved her hand in a vague, circular gesture, “…alleviating the discomfort?”
I grinned. “Yeah, but I’m not beating off in the bathroom of a bed and breakfast.”
She blushed. “Oh. You mean…masturbating.”
I laughed again. “Yeah, princess. I mean masturbating. Which is when I take my cock in my hand and stroke it until I come all over the place.” I winked as she gulped. “That’s the only option, other than letting it subside on its own.”
“Oh.”
Just to test her a little, I moseyed back across the room. “There is…oneother option.”
She was wide-eyed and innocent and lovely and intoxicating. “Oh—oh really?”
“You could help. Instead’a my hand, you could touch me.” I stopped when I was just within touching distance. “The thought just occurred to me. Just, you know, as a possibility.”
“I see.” She was playing along with the game, keeping her expression wide-eyed and innocent and naive. “I suppose thatisan option.”
4
Evangeline
My heart was hammeringin my chest, again—as it so often seemed to do around Baxter Badd.
This time, insanely, I was actually considering doing it.
Touching him.
This whole morning—afternoon, whatever—all I could think of was the way his…his manhood…had looked last night. Bare. Huge. It had looked as if it was straining. So engorged with blood it was near to bursting. I’d been imagining it like that, inside his plain black shorts. Enormous and thick and pink and straining.
Now he was standing in front of me, and I was sitting on the bed, feet on the floor, facing the door. His shorts were thin, almost like swim trunk material, but cut to look like regular shorts. His arousal was obvious, outlined behind the thin fabric. He looked…tense, all over. As if he was engaging in self-control, holding himself back. I may not have been a virgin, but I was totally inexperienced in things like this, so I may as well have been one for all I knew about what he was feeling, thinking, or going through. What he wanted.
Me, I knew that much.
To touch me. To hear me say things I could never say.
And…probably, for me to touch him. Do things to him I’d barely even dreamed of or fantasized about doing.
Like—I swallowed hard, staring up at him, and then letting my gaze travel down and down and down to his zipper, and the thick ridge bulging behind it—like unzipping his pants, taking out histhing, and touching it. Touching him, on purpose, until he reached orgasm.
Giving him what the online pornography videos would probably call a handjob. I’d watched…well…more than a few of those videos. It was my dirtiest, darkest secret: I watched porn. I had an account under a secret email address comprised of nonsense letters and numbers, which I paid for monthly with a pre-paid Visa card loaded with cash drawn from my secret bank account of money filtered from Father.
I watched porn regularly, habitually, almost obsessively.
